


Great Divide of the Tormented Souls.

by Arubi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Corruption, Dark, Dark Stiles, Derek Feels, Evil Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Friendship, Guilt, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Manipulation, Psychological Trauma, Stilinski Family Feels, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arubi/pseuds/Arubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles learns that everything comes with a price, and his gifts come with the cruelest one of all.</p><p>“Let me say this once and let me make it clear; my instinct to protect you was not fueled by some magical pack bond, this did not happen because of some duty I felt towards you as the alpha, towards Scott as my friend, or towards the pack as my family. I am not a werewolf, and you know that.” Stiles moves forward. “So stop blaming yourself for a decision I made with my own free will, besides,” He looks sideways, dropping his voice. “I was aware of the consequences.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Divide of the Tormented Souls.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story involving what I really think connects Derek and Stiles as characters.  
> It's a little dark and there are some sick elements to it which might trigger some people. {Warning}
> 
> The ending is sweet, but some of you might see it as abusive, or unhealthy - that is however, done on purpose.

  
  
_They don’t understand anything._

It keeps haunting Stiles’ mind, a tingling high voice of miserable delight. He hates it. Why isn’t he celebrating with them?

*

They are in Lydia’s backyard, half of them are drunk and the other are on their way to being so. Stiles, Stiles wants to be wasted. He wonders if that would make everything better, if it’d stop and drown that stupid unbearable voice.

The whole pack, right now, is overjoyed. Scott and Allison are dancing together nearby the pool and Lydia is pinned to the wall by Jackson, whose sliding his hands under her skirt, fingers making their way up. Boyd and Erica are sitting together on a bench, alone, holding hands like the passionate lovers they are.

The reason they are celebrating is because they just drove the pack of alphas out of town, _they did it_.

Stiles can’t be any happier about that.

Derek is sitting on a table opposite of Isaac. Stiles is with the two of them, standing behind Isaac as they arm wrestle, the wolves threatening to break the table at any moment.

Isaac, under normal circumstances, would have lost instantly; Stiles however is channelling his energy through Isaac’s hand, strengthening his arm to the point where Isaac is almost head to head with Derek, or in this case, arm to arm.

It started as a simple challenge.

*

“I bet we could beat you.” Isaac would have never proposed this were he sober, but the three of them drank a little too much and hey, he’s feeling confident.

Derek raises an eyebrow, arrogant and smiling smugly. “I’d break your arm.” He deadpans.

“Are you insinuating that my energy wouldn’t be a challenge for you?” Stiles’ voice is hot and heavy, the smell of alcohol clouding Derek’s senses with each exhale.

“Stiles, you’re wasted. Shut up.” He really needs Stiles to shut his mouth, because it is hanging open and his tongue is doing _things_ and swirling around. Something inside Derek clenches, but he ignores it.

‘He’s right Stiles, you’re probably too drunk to even channel energy right now. You can’t even do it properly when you’re sober.’ Something inside Stiles tells him, and he shakes his head, clearing his senses out.

Stiles feels frustrated, a sudden anger boiling through him. He’s not weak, and he’ll show everyone that.

“Okay no. You think you can actually beat me. Stiles will not stand for this.” He jerks up, standing upwards and walking – wobbling – behind Isaac.

“Oh come on, Derek. Or are you scared?” Derek stares at him, a little dumbfounded – taken aback. Stiles himself can’t understand why his voice is so mocking and teasing.

‘Like he always is, always scared of everything. He’s so neurotic it pains me.’ There it is again. Stiles wants to shut it out, desperately. He blinks a couple of times, he can’t believe he even dared to think like that – ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’ It says again.

Isaac and Derek’s hand clench and grasp each other’s, firm and hold rigid.

“Three.” Stiles counts, and start channelling his energy into Isaac’s flesh.

“Two.” His energy reached Isaac’s hand muscles. Stiles can feel the tissue gather strength as he feeds it.

“One.”

Isaac at first is holding his own against Derek’s resolute strength, his hand is inching slowly towards the table, and Derek’s tight pressed lips curve upwards.

Stiles soaks in more energy, he knows he should be careful not to hurt Isaac, but the lazy stupor he is in dazes his control and inhibition.

‘It’s not like he can’t handle it.’ The voice says, frustrated.

Isaac’s eyes burn gold and with Stiles’ own energy, he starts overwhelming the alpha. Derek is baffled, looking up and down from Isaac’s own slightly confused expression up to Stiles’ growing smirk.

Derek’s eyes flicker red and the veins in his biceps throb as he uses more of his own strength, overwhelming Isaac rapidly.

‘How can you be so useless?’ The voice says, furious. Stiles tries to shut it out, oblivious to the fact that it wasn’t the voice from the back of his mind that spoke, but his own.

Isaac lets out a painful moan as his arm grows limp from Stiles’ sudden influx of energy and its bones crack. Derek immediately unclenches his arm and stands up. Scott and Allison rush to them.

“What happened?” Scott says, looking between the three.

Derek grabs Isaac’s arm carefully, and stares at Stiles, who looks horrified.

“I- I- I’m- Sorry,” He stammers and back away, rushing inside to find the bathroom.

*

Why did he do that to Isaac? Why did he hurt him like that?

It was the first time the voice took over his actions, it wasn’t however the first time that _he_ lost control over his actions. He’s starting to get scared, can feel the foreboding feeling creep inside him like a disease, he had seen Derek’s shocked look at what he did.

He can hear Scott’s disbelieving questions of _how could Stiles do that_.

Stiles wants to go out and tell them that it wasn’t on purpose, they probably already know that, but it is getting worse and he knows, with trepidation, that there will be a point when things will accumulate to a point where he will not be forgiven.

He bites back a sniff, his eyes are teary and his fingers are trembling a little, tingling with the rush of energy he had previously channelled. It was getting more and more violent, endlessly. Stiles thought he could handle it, he thought he could handle his abilities, he made them all believe that he can.

There’s a knock on the door.

“It’s Scott. Stiles, open the door. Come’ on.” Stiles rinses his face with water, hiding his tears. He can hear Scott’s voice, all pleading and comforting – it’s unbearable. Scott’s understanding and perfect and Stiles can’t comprehend how Scott can still be like that with him. Scott moves in.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. One moment we were having fun and just jok-“

“Shh. Stiles, it’s okay. Isaac’s arm is fine.”

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“You were just tipsy and it got out of control. It happens, think about it as a full moon thing.” Scott smirks, smile wide and jovial.

Stiles hates it.

“I should be able to control it by now, to control myself.” He says.

“Everyone knew it’s going to be hard. No one can blame you, it is thanks to you that we’re alive after all,” He drops an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, drawing him in a side hug. “So are…you going to get inside the pool with the rest of us?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I’m… I’m going to crash.” Scott’s smile falls.

“Oh come on, dude. We’ll be waiting.” Scott leaves and Stiles sighs.

It started with subtle little things Stiles himself was unaware of.

Snapping at people randomly, brutal comments and snide remarks he delivered, challenging Jackson when mocked.

It earned a few baffled glances from the pack, sometimes they stayed silent for a little while until he slowly comprehended what he did and invented some stupid excuse to leave. He knows it’s getting harder for them to support him, to stay calm, to stand his demeanour.

The voice used to be non-existent, to just be a feeling of overwhelming anger or a rush of brutality and coldness he experienced in certain situations. An impulse to say what he really meant without restraining himself. Stiles used to talk a lot because he liked it, it was the way he communicated, it used to be the way he repressed himself from being sad over memories he had decided to move on from long ago; yet now all he could do was talk about nonsense to try and keep himself from saying what lied beneath those words, those impulses which threatened to break out every time he didn’t distract himself with something.

It was working less and less, rapidly. Soon it’d be no use, because the impulses have grown to whispers and sometimes when he wasn’t distracted and he was alone with his thoughts the soft voices gained volume until they became strong, brutal commands.

He went back to the pool, sliding into the water and fixing his gaze against the liquid, unwilling to meet the other’s solemn eyes of understanding, suspicion and worst of all; pity.

Then Isaac threw some water at him and Scott dived from underneath and pulled him under the water.

*

_Five months earlier_

Some say a man’s most powerful virtue is strength, others argue that it is knowledge. Few actually know; that it is the wisdom to have both.

They did not do it valiantly. No, they came and snatched them one by one, taking one member after the other.

The first one was Erica. She ran into the forest with Boyd, trying to find a new pack, they were surrounded and taken away.

The rest of the pack only realized that Boyd and Erica didn’t truly leave, but rather were abducted and being held hostage when two pictures and a letter from the alpha pack were pinned against the hale building’s charred front wall.

They nested inside Stiles’ house. Stiles constructed mountain ash barriers, the knowledge he had gained from Deaton during the weeks of relative peace and foreboding proved effective. He could channel his energy into things. It was wonderful, seeing a pencil hover in the air or observing it piercing through stone. Not that it was enough – not for long.

Soon after, Kali lured the sheriff out of the house with her kind sweet demeanour; he had no way of seeing through her. It was all too innocent and naïve. They captured his dad, asking for Isaac in return.

The tension between them rose and their control of the situation started shattering little by little, bit by bit. That night they fought, and then cried a little too. Few tears which led to soothing touches and expressions of repressed feelings. The next morning, Stiles found his Dad in-front of his door, unconscious, and Isaac was gone.

Scott rushed to them in a fury, Derek did too. Stiles knew they were doomed.                             

So he did a very, very wrong thing.

The conversation with Mrs Morell was reminiscent of Eve asking for the Devil’s mythical apple.

“Stiles, there is a reason why no one practices it.” She stared at him with sincerity – it was a first, especially since she had spent months coaxing him into doing what he was about to do.

“It is very powerful, but the price is just as high.”

 “Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, for such power to be created it will need something in return. The more you will use, the more it will consume.”

He stared ahead, face impassive but certain. He moved towards the book, opened it and found its middle pages, putting his hands on them

 “You dabbled in black magic didn’t you?” He met her eyes one last time.

“Yes.”

“What was the price for you?”

“Bonds.”

“Bonds?”

“Yes. I see the world from behind a wall of ice, I can observe, I can see things happen around me. Yet I can never be a part of it. I feel nothing. No emotions.”

“You cannot feel anything?”

“It’s been five years since I’ve last tapped into it, yet even after all these years everything remains dull and stale.”

“What will be my price?” His voice wavered.

“It’s different for everyone, but the more you get, the more you will lose.”

He nodded and after a couple of moments inhaled, channelling his energy into the pages.

“Stiles, coming back isn’t as easy as you think. In-fact, don’t-“

Stiles closed his eyes. The tiny inscriptions on the pages blurred, the ink turning into pools of black liquid which slurred through the pages and surrounded Stiles’ hands, black thin vapour bobbed out of the paper, creeping along his nails, up his skin, slowly spreading through his hands and over the rest of his body.

The next time he opened his eyes, they were black.

*

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Derek asks, leaning against Stiles’ bedroom wall. The window is open and the fresh cold wind of the pine trees and the woods fill the room with a refreshing cool sensation. It’s dark, but the moon’s light illuminates Derek’s hair silver and outlines the edges of his jaw and the rest of his muscular body perfectly. Stiles can barely look away.

“It’ll be better.” Stiles says, a towel wrapped low around his hips as he dries his grown spiky hair.

“That’s what you said last time, Stiles. Since then you’ve only gotten worse.”

“Well what can I do about it!?” Stiles snaps a little, and he bites his lips, cursing himself.

“Sorry,” He mutters. He can see how Derek is looking at him, eyes still uncomprehending and features pained.

“You know I would have protected Scott.” His voice is a little rough, almost choking.

“I know, you would’ve never have let him die. You would have given them the one thing they truly wanted. You would have joined them.” Stiles says.

“Then why did you do it?”

“Who would have protected you?” He jokes, and the stale pattern of his heart alerts Derek how it is not a lie.

Their eyes lock for a moment, and it is _there_ , the unbearable tension between the two of them is tangible, filled with questions and strangeness. They’re still strangers to each other, even after all this time, they hang out together because of their common relations. They save each other for that reason too. Stiles knows that, what he doesn’t know is why they understand each other as if they were kin.

“If you knew that this would have happened you would have never done it, Stiles. You rushed into it because I was incompetent, I was unable-”

“You did everything you could. You protected us with all you had, so did I.”

“But it wasn’t your duty, it was mine! I’m the alpha.” Derek argues.

Stiles has never had this type of conversation before, in-fact, it’s the first time Derek’s argument with him went beyond simply questions and answers.

“Are you saying I should have let you sacrifice yourself? Let you become their slave or whatever they wanted you to be?”

“It would have been better than you… than what is happening now.”

“Let me say this once and let me make it clear; my instinct to protect you was not fuelled by some magical pack bond, this did not happen because of some duty I felt towards you as the alpha, towards Scott as my friend, or towards the pack as my family. I am not a werewolf, and you know that.” Stiles moves forward. “So stop blaming yourself for a decision I made with my own free will, besides,” He looks sideways, dropping his voice. “I was aware of the consequences.”

“What do you mean-“Derek looks up at Stiles and realizes something cruel. There’s a long pause.

“Wait, you know you’d start…?” Derek’s voice is surprised.

“I was warned… and prepared – Kind of.” He mumbles.

“Why?” Derek says, after a while, and his tone is almost angry.

“Well, no matter how much you’re so inclined to believe otherwise, you are worth it.”

Derek stares at him for a moment, and then leaves from the window.

‘He’s worth it? Really Stiles? What are you trying to do? Boost his self-esteem?’ The voice says, laughing. It’s no longer inside his mind, now it feels as if it’s looming around him, whispering words only he can hear.

Stiles falls into his bed and prays sleep takes him into a ride of dreams he hopes he won’t remember. Yet slumber doesn’t come, instead the voice gets louder and sits beside him, wraps itself around his body and makes him shudder and tremble.

‘I can’t believe you’re falling for someone as damaged as him. It’s revolting. He murdered his own family. He treated you like shit, and instead you sacrificed yourself for him.

Stiles wraps an arm around his ears, knowing it is futile, the voice was everywhere.

‘Now look where it got you, him still leaving, unimpressed by your pathetically gallant efforts and you falling apart.’

He turns around, shakes his head and breathes and tries to think of something, _anything_.

‘I must admit your plans keep getting worse and worse, the very first one was when it lead to your best friend becoming a werewolf and leaving you as the only useless failure left,’

Stiles is on the verge of tears. _Derek does care about him. Scott does too. He knows that, he just needs to cling to that belief, needs to cling to his friends. He knows they won’t abandon him, they are his resolve, his only hope away from this constant torment._ He keeps repeating the words to himself. Holds his eyes closed and keeps holding onto the image of Scott and the others.

‘And now this. Look where it got you Stiles. He doesn’t care about you, he’s disgusted by your desperate attempts at pleasing him like some kind of cheap whore.  You really believed someone like him would ever see someone like you?

The voice keeps going, relentless and merciless all night, tormenting him until the images he conjured up to sustain his sanity slowly start blurring.

And finally, after long hours of incessant torment, when he’s too exhausted and tears are flowing down his face, he finally opens his eyes. There’s a figure sitting on the bed, tall and slender, expression pale and eyes hollow and black. The figure’s hand is patting him soothingly, his touch is cold and his fingers are long and thin.

“Hello, I’m Stiles.” The figure says.

*

Deaton is behind him and Allison, Lydia and Erica are lying on the grass, just letting the rich green smell of grass ease them as they let the soothing sunlight soak their skin.

“Breathe Stiles.” Derek is leaning against an adjacent tree, the only one of a couple in the clearing.

The clearing they’re in is on elevated land, circled by towering trunks which mark the entrance to the woods where Isaac, Scott and Boyd were playing and fooling around, sometimes climbing on the tallest trees to admire the view of the town from afar or to check on Stiles and the others.

Stiles focuses, inhales and allows his energy to flow out of him and seep into the roots beneath the ground. He can feel his energy travelling through the soil, as if they were his fingers digging through dense liquid.

“Stiles, that is not how you do it, you do not force yourself in, just follow the weakest spots and the path unveils itself easily.”

‘What does he know, ignore him, Stiles, he’s an idiot.’ The figure – him, is standing a few feet away from them.

‘You know Stiles; that really does not work in this case. I mean, you really think making a plant grow will help you get rid of me? Sorry, I’m not that easy to get rid of. In case you forgot our most significant attribute always was our peskiness - our inability to just leave when we are unwanted’ His voice turned low and mocking, emphasising the _unwanted_. ‘Too bad that it is a turn off for Derek. I heard he hates irritating people.’

“Shut up.” Stiles tells him, whispering angrily.

“Sorry?” Deaton asked,

“Oh, nothing, continue.”

“Try again, remember to feel the weaker spots, the cracks, and let your energy seep through them. Think of it as water running down the easiest possible path.”

‘You know what I want right now Stiles, to kill Lydia. She is such a bitch! We spent so much time pining over her and she never looked twice at us. I guess now that I can see how you dress it is obvious why, but really, look at my body; it’s glorious.’

Stiles tries to concentrate, channels his energy once again.

‘I’d like to do that. I’d like to be able to touch and feel things. I want to be able to visit countries and ruin people’s lives just because, hey, it is fun and they would probably have deserved it. I might kill Derek too, just to end the failure that is his life, and you know, the view of seeing him writhe in pain as I violate him.’

“…and that is still now how you do it.” Deaton says.

“Just tell me already!!” Stiles snaps, and then realizes he said it out loud, everyone looks at him, shocked.

“I’m sorry… I have to… go.” He quickly runs away into the trees, trying to gain distance from the rest of the pack. He arrives at a small spot between tall trees, panting heavily and feeling the patches of leaves crunching as the other him moves behind him and wraps his arms around his middle.

‘God… that was unpleasant… I wouldn’t have been _that_ mean. But then again, he was being awfully annoying.’

“You used to be a feeling… then a voice… Now I can see you…” Stiles turns to the figure, grabs his hands.

It’s his perfect reflection dressed in tight jeans and an open jacket, his chest bare and a silver necklace hanging down his neck.

‘You remember this don’t you? It was our mother’s, I wonder when you lost it… God, so clumsy, Stiles.”

A sharp pang of guilt knocks the air out of him.

“However, kudos on the abs, they jut out obscenely. And the biceps. Wow.” The figure, his perfect echo, touches its own body all over, as if discovering itself.

Stiles punches the figure in the jaw, causing it to take a couple of steps back.

“I can feel your skin…” Stiles tries to observe; tries to find something logical. “You’re not a ghost. You’re not just an illusion. So what are you?”

‘I’m you, I’m all the dark thoughts inside your brain and sub consciousness you fought so hard, for so long, to keep suppressed.’ The figure smiles and Stiles swallows, ‘I’m the guilt you feel for causing your mother’s death. Do you remember Stiles, when you couldn’t stop moving inside the car and you made her turn around to silence you? When she looked away from the street for just a second and that was it… There was blood _everywhere_.’

The echo’s voice is delighted, husky. It then shrugs pityingly. ‘Too bad she never got to know that it wasn’t your fault, that you are naturally hyperactive… She must have died hating you. She spent weeks in the hospital before she died, I wonder if she was ever conscious enough to actually think about you. I wonder what she told your father as she slowly lay there dying.’ The figure walks behind Stiles, wraps his arms seductively around him once again.

‘I’m the regret you have for destroying your father’s life… for not saying yes to Peter when he asked you whether you wanted the bite… The frustration you felt at being utterly useless as Matt hit your dad… The pride, vanity, wraith and lust long suppressed by your self-loathing… Truth is Stiles; you’re not as good as you lead everyone to believe. You’re dark and twisted and your insecurity makes your insides rejoice in other’s misery, because it makes you feel safe to see everyone inferior. Maybe that’s why you have such intense feelings for Derek, because his misery feeds you.’

“Stiles?” Derek snaps him out of it, and the figure is gone.

“Yes?” He doesn’t realize his voice is choked. That his eyes are red.

“…Stiles…” Derek moves closer to him, hesitant.

“I’m okay. I’m fine.” He rubs his eyes, trying to regain his composure.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just I didn’t mean to snap at Deaton like that and I was a little bit-“

“Let’s just go for a walk.” Derek stops him, and then nods ahead before strolling forward.

“Okay.”

“I’m fine.” He says after a little, and Derek nods, even if they both can hear his erratic heartbeat.

“What’s happening to you Stiles? Honestly,” Derek demands after a while. “And do not lie.”

“You’re asking me to trust you?”

“Wouldn’t be a bad time to start.” Derek mutters.

“I trust you, I just am not sure whether you trust me.” Derek looks at him, expression serious.

“I do trust you.” Stiles jerks up, and he knows how hard it is for Derek to say those words, in fact, he never heard them before. Stiles wishes he could hear his heartbeat, too.

“You don’t have to do this.” He then says.

“Do what?” Derek asks, confused.

“This thing where you feel guilty about what I did and return the favour so that we’re square and you don’t owe me anything anymore. Because you do not owe me anything, no one does. I can deal with it myself.”

Stiles jumps from one branch to another and then halts on top of a patch of dry leaves, shuffling them. He leans against the tree, looks up and winces when a shaft of sunlight directly hits his eyes.

Derek stops there, seeing Stiles like that knocked something inside of him and made it twist and clench. Stiles looks… stunning, even with his bruised sleepless eyes, his fatigued face – it all added to his beauty, it made him perfect and vulnerable and raw. His rich scent of cinnamon and freshness, mixed with the smell of wild mint and herbs lying around in the forest, he mesmerizes Derek. The sunlight draws upon Stiles, lighting his honey brown eyes and igniting them gold, his skin looks fresh, fair and smooth, veins throbbing in his neck as he looks upwards, baring himself to Derek obliviously. Stiles, Derek realizes, is a wonder.

“Cat bit your tongue?”

Derek shakes his head, trying to focus. “Let’s go back. The others are probably worried.”

*

It must not happen.

Derek repeats it to himself firmly, tone loud and dominant in the room, yet somewhat weak in his mind. He punches the wall again and more of the beaten concrete falls off. It had always been a good way to calm himself down, to hit something until he grew tired and he bled, or to run into the woods until his muscles gave out.

Yet he can’t go into the woods now, the smell of the trees and the mint and the grass just reminds him of Stiles. He and Stiles can never happen.

He remembers when he used to think that he’d never find anyone. He was scared he’d be alone forever, yet the alternative – trusting – seemed to be out of his capability. He had fun, one night stands, but nothing else. Attachments lead to trust, and trust always, eventually lead to betrayal – to disappointment.

He can’t be there for Stiles, he can’t help him and fix him like any normal person can. He is broken and damaged while Stiles is innocent and full of joy and freedom and spirit.

At first, that thought was what kept him from ever making a move, the reason he clang to with all his being to not fall for Stiles.

Then he started catching glimpses of Stiles, glimpses of the man when Stiles thought no one else was watching, and he’d see _those eyes_. Those eyes which appeared in between smiles, in between acts. Eyes which had seen the epitome of anguish, pain and loss.

And something else Derek didn’t dare put his finger on.

It was their eyes. Those were the two anchors to the strange silent bond they created. Invisible, but nonetheless there. A link which connected them uniquely.

Stiles’ eyes keep haunting him, night and day.

Rapidly those eyes are becoming darker, the light in them keeps dimming. They are becoming bruised and battered. Derek wants to do something about it. He wants to make them shine the same way they used to, he wants to make them recognizable once more. Those eyes are the only authentic part of Stiles, the two honey orbs which stare into his soul and make him feel like he’s not completely and utterly alone.

As those eyes slowly die, change shape and colour; Derek’s instincts scream against him to make a move, to go and save them. Yet he can’t, he can’t do that. He must stay away from Stiles.

Soon those eyes will change completely, and Derek will have lost Stiles too.

He wonders if he can bear it.

*

Its two weeks later when it happens.

“Why didn’t you come yesterday? The others asked me to check on you, Scott was worried.” Isaac says, making his way into Stiles’ living room.

“You alone?” He wonders before falling onto the couch; it has become a second home to him.

“Yeah. Dad’s at work. I wasn’t feeling too well.” Stiles replies, wary.

“You don’t look good. Stiles.” Isaac looks up to him, expression concerned.

‘Oh what does he want now?’ Stiles’ echo rolls its eyes and sits beside Isaac, glaring at him. ‘Stiles, he really is annoying. Get rid of him’.

“Shut up.” Stiles says, and then groans when he sees Isaac’s bewildered expression.

“Sorry. I think I’m a little sick.”

There’s a pause; a moment of silence between the two filled with trepidation. They both know where this is going.

“Stiles. The pack… is getting worried about you.”

“They shouldn’t. I’m fine.” Stiles says, but he doesn’t smile. He goes inside the kitchen and brings two cans of beer, throwing one at Isaac.

‘What about me?’ The figure smirks. ‘Really Stiles here’s the guy who took Scott away from you, and you’re giving him beer. It applauses mockingly, three slow claps. ‘Well, I guess that was to be expected, you were the useless one after all. God it’s depressing, you could have become a werewolf. Instead, because of some stupid luck, Scott did. An idiot like him. Always sitting in the side-lines, aren’t you tired of it? Being the spare? Maybe I could show you exactly how it is done.’ Stiles’ echo’s smile turns devious, suggestive and threatening.

Isaac sighs. “You’re changing so much, Stiles,” He looks sideways. “We’re getting a little scared.” It’s a murmur.

Stiles lets out a giggle. “You’re getting scared of me?”

“Not you… just… what you’re becoming…”

“Well I don’t remember judging Scott when he turned into a furry monster and threatened to kill me every week or so.” The way he shouts just shows him how right Isaac is. They both flinch.

“Stiles you almost killed Jackson. Granted, he’s sometimes a jackass, but he’s trying. You humiliated him… it was brutal. It was unlike you.”

‘Can’t you see what he’s trying to ask of you? He’s trying to tell you to keep away from them, a gentle way of saying: please stay away from us. God you’re so dumb – wait, never mind, you got that too. Good boy.  It was bound to happen, Stiles, the way I see it you have no option but to get away from them, before you truly do hurt them.’ The figure now is behind him, its voice is husky and seductive, whispering in his ear.

’I’m trying. Isaac. I really am, but… it keeps getting better.’

“I’m trying. Isaac. I really am, but… it keeps getting worse.” Stiles hears the sadistic laugh of the echo as it replicates what he says.

Isaac flinches, as if hurt by the statement.

“I don’t know how to fix myself anymore. I just don’t think…” Stiles stops talking when he realizes that Isaac is staring right through him, as if he isn’t there.

“Isaac? Hello?” Stiles says, louder.

The figure, his replica, detaches itself from him and walks slowly towards the sofa, leaning on it.

Isaac’s eyes follow its movements.

“What the hell-“                     

“Stiles, what do you mean ‘it keeps getting better’?” Isaac stands up and asks the figure.

Stiles takes a step back, aghast.

“Paying you guys back. Showing you little by little just how I can’t stand any of you anymore.” The echo smirks, and its eyes flicker to Stiles, who is petrified.

“What-“

This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. Stiles looks around, tries to feel his own flesh, to confirm that he is there. And he is, yet he’s invisible to Isaac. Instead Isaac is conversing with his shadow.

“Isaac. I get it. You don’t want me anywhere near you anymore. I’m a danger to all of you, which is weird, since you’re technically the monsters, not I.”

“Stiles, I didn’t say-“Isaac protests.

Stiles is tugging at Isaac’s shirt. “It’s not me, Isaac! I’m here, Isaac! Please! You don’t understand!”

“You don’t have to say anything Isaac. I don’t want you here. Don’t you have to go ogle Scott or something? You’re terribly pathetic, trying so hard to get his attention when he’s besotted by Allison. Maybe he might fuck you someday, out of pity. Or Derek might! It’s adorable how you turn boneless in-front of him.”

Isaac swallows, his face contorts in hurt. “I’m… I’m just going to leave…” He stammers and steps backwards before turning, and rushing out of the house.

The figure laughs in triumph, and Stiles sobs.

*

Three weeks later

Stiles hasn’t seen any of the pack in six days. Everyone has been calling and trying to contact him. Jackson and Scott threatened to barge in through the door four times, and Scott tried to get up from the window twice. They couldn’t however, he sealed his room with magic.

Scott, the previous night, spent half an hour trying to talk to him. Sitting and lying with his back against the door outside of the room, while Stiles was with his head against the same door, from inside, listening through Scott’s pleas, and later, tears.

Probably Isaac had left out most of the real conversation they had. He had probably only told that Stiles is in a bad shape; that he needs help.

He’s in the bathroom, washing himself under the shower and scrubbing his skin so hard he knows it’ll soon bruise. His throat feels heavy and it aches. There’s the figure behind him, bare and wrapping its arms around his middle from behind, pressing itself against him.

‘See how good your body feels, Stiles. God, feel your abs against your own skin. Your own cock as it grinds and rubs between your cheeks. You know I’m going to keep torturing you until you let me out of here, right? It won’t take too long, you’ll soon give in completely. I’ve been getting more and more real-time than you in these past few days. Soon it’ll just be me… soon you’ll be the shadowy replica… the fake one… soon you’ll become the voice… and finally you’ll just become a lingering feeling of failure that will eventually fade away.’

When he finishes he goes back into his room, and there’s Derek just outside of the window, holding onto the wall with his claws.

“Stiles, let me in.” Derek’s echoes from behind the glass.

“Go away.” Stiles says.

“Let me in or I’ll barge in. You know I’m strong enough.”

Stiles sighs and then lets the barrier fall. He goes towards the window and opens it. Derek climbs in and moves closer to him.

“It’s not because of some favour I owe you. I do care about you Stiles, more than I think I should.”

“Derek-“Stiles begins.

“Shut up. You remember Kate, right?” Stiles nods. “I had a relationship with her, when I was sixteen. I didn’t know she was a hunter, she used me to find out about my family and seek the best opportunity to burn them all alive. She succeeded.”

Stiles’ eyes are wide, and not because he didn’t know this – he did – he had connected the dots by himself when he was searching through police reports regarding the hale fire to find who the alpha was. But Derek telling him this – it was huge. Surreal.

“Did you ever… tell?” He asks, although he knows the answer.

“No. But you knew didn’t you?” It’s not a question.

“I had my suspicion…”

Derek looms close to Stiles, puts his arms around him.

“It’s not about returning a favour.” He says, silently. They are standing too close. Stiles can feel Derek’s breath - the heat of his flesh.

“Just tell me,” Derek shakes his head again, dismayed. “Or tell Scott, talk to him. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but you can trust Scott. He’s miserable Stiles. Do it… do it for them…?” Derek trembles a little and pulls away. Retreating. Gaining distance. His eyes are wide, as if he committed a crime. He looks shocked, disgusted.

“I can’t talk to Scott.” Stiles chokes out just before Derek is about to leave.

“Scott can understand pain.” He says. “He can understand loss.” He adds. “He can’t understand guilt.” His eyes lock with Derek.

And there is it.

That slithering thing that wraps around both of them and makes them kin.

“My mum died when I was six.” He exhales.

There’s a pause.

“I was in the car when she died, jumping and fidgeting and she turned around for a second to silence me and the truck came out of nowhere.” It comes out in one large breath. “I wasn’t too young. I knew what I was doing. During the two weeks that I was out in the hospital, I heard my dad crying over me as my vitals got stronger and hers got weaker. They were all bits and pieces. But they’re there.”

“Later, when I woke up my mum was already dead. And all I was left with were my father’s cold eyes boring into mine. I killed her, and I ruined his life. He promised her to take care of me. To take care of her murderer. Do you know what my biggest fear is? It’s not being mauled by a werewolf, it’s him knowing what really happened, telling me what he really thinks.”

The silence that falls between them is filled with apprehension, the air tense and cool against their flesh. It’s like they are meeting each other for the first time, finally seeing each other’s real faces after years of speaking through barred walls.

They are both bare and raw and vulnerable. The wind soughs around the room, and it’s louder than their breathing. It makes them both shudder a little, tremble with uncertainty, almost as if they want to hide.

Stiles is transfixed in place, stunned by what just happened between them, it seemed to the two that this was something more violating, more stripping than the act of sex. For them this was the epitome of intimacy.

Stiles doesn’t step back when Derek walks towards him and lifts his chin up carefully with his hand, as if he might break him.

“I’m not a good person, Derek. I’m not good.” Stiles whispers. “It’s going to get worse, he’s waiting until you leave…” He swallows, trepidation emitting from him in dark waves that has Derek flinching.

Then he smirks. “You always complicate things. It’s so simple.”

“Huh?”

“I won’t leave.”

When Derek kisses him, his lips soft but strong and his tongue pressing against his, it feels like something Stiles can’t explain.

 A hint of awkwardness enters Derek’s face, hesitation creeping into his features.

Stiles wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him in again, this time pressing his own tongue into his mouth and tasting the scorching warmth that is Derek.

Afterwards, when Stiles is lying in bed, naked, and Derek is in the bathroom, taking a shower, the figure reappears.

‘How do you overcome guilt?’ It inquires, and it’s almost sad.

Stiles speaks slowly. “You don’t... Because that guilt reminds you that you would have never done anything to hurt them on purpose. That you care.” He pauses, closes his eyes a little and continues gravely. “That if they were here, they would have wanted you to be happy. To tell you that they forgive you. At-least you hope they do; at-least you make sure to live your life to the full for them. In their memory, because if you give up, let everything consume you – that’s when you would have truly failed them. So you keep them alive in your own way, by staying alive, for them.”

He says to the figure - himself. Who now was as still as him.

Derek opens the door, a towel hanging low on his hips, smiling.

“Go away now.” Stiles says. “I want to be with him.”

Derek rushes onto him, oblivious to the towel falling down to the floor, a wolfish grin on his face.

x

Months pass and Stiles knows that while the figure does not haunt him anymore, it is still inside of him - present. It became a part of him, meld with him and the white and black colours blended into grey.

He indeed is not a good person, he realizes, every time he sees other's misery and something inside of him revels and celebrates. People look at him and their eyes tremble and narrow in trepidation - they take a step back and leave him to walk a lonely path. Scott loves him, for he does not understand, yet still stays with him, still tells him, in weird subtle ways that he’s still his best friend. He still cuddles with him when they sleep over or when they’re watching a movie, still trusts him blindly. The pack, Stiles knows, do not understand either, yet they still stay with him. He’s terrifying, he grasps, when he fights and shows visiting foreign larger packs small demonstrations of what he can do, a warning every time they try to question them as a fellow pack.

It’s sick and revolting. When Kali returns, in a desperate attempt to avenge her pack, and tries to kill Derek; Stiles kills her in return.

She’s in the warehouse when it happens, surrounded by all of them from every corner, eyes red with fury and despair and absolute blind rage. She still leaps towards their alpha, and just before her fist connects with Derek, Stiles paralyzes her with his energy, then slams her against the hard concrete.

Stiles is merciless with her, and the way he brutally humiliates her has Scott and Lydia flinching away from him. Taking a couple of steps back. He lets her run away again, not because he allows her, but because Derek puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him that it is enough. That she learned her lesson.

Later, after they fuck in Derek’s loft, Stiles silently walks out of the bed and into the night. He hunts her down, it’s easy - remnants of his energy inside of her body alert him of her presence from miles away. He finds her sitting around a fire, eyes bruised and red from weeping. She looks up at him, at first in shock, and then in apprehension – she knows what’s coming – she can see it in his hollow eyes.

Black shadows creep out of him, a dark vapour which quickly extends from his body and wraps around her like a snake ensnaring its target. She fights it for a little, tries to keep the thick mass coiling around her skin from penetrating her, but it’s futile, and then she falls dead.

Stiles breathes, observes the darkness returning to its source, seeping into his skin in the form of thick black veins which course through his body and fade inside of him, only to reappear in the depths of his mind.

However, when he returns to his home, Derek is there waiting for him. His eyes, are not judging, they do not shiver a little in fear, instead they are fixed on his own and they are filled with something Stiles values above all else; understanding.

And Stiles realizes, he indeed is not a good person, but with Derek, he simply doesn’t have to be.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In this outtake Stiles is powerful, reserved and aggressively aware. The ending does not inspire the idea that everything is solved, and is ambiguous. The future of Stiles as a persona and his relationship with Derek is not in anyway set in stone, and is left for the reader to interpret.
> 
> The voice, which later becomes his 'shadowy' reflection, is a personification of the darkness inside his heart, fueled and given presence due to his magic. While he did manage to keep the darkness from taking over him, it still remains a part of him which lies deep within. This introduces the idea of trading power for control, he gains a-lot of power, but he sacrifices the control he used to have, and thus the darkest bits in him he tried to forsaken came crawling out and almost managed to take over his personality - something he managed to avoid, yet not without any consequences. As the darkest bits now are a part of him he cannot suppress anymore.
> 
> While most people do not like this new, more real version of him. Derek, in my view, would understand it in a way unlike anyone else.


End file.
